Oops I Am My Bully's Bride

Chapter 12

Marceline stood frozen at the foot of the bed, the foil packet still lying where Adrian had discarded it after his little demonstration.

Her cheek throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

The bruise forming on her hip pulsed with every shallow breath she took. Victoria’s fingers never stopped their slow, proprietary circles over Adrian’s chest, sliding lower now, tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his open shirt.

Adrian’s arm tightened around the other woman’s waist. He turned his face into Victoria’s hair and murmured something low enough that Marceline could not catch the words.

Victoria laughed softly, the sound rich and satisfied, and tilted her head so he could press another lingering kiss against the side of her throat.

Marceline’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

The heat started low in her stomach...hotter than the humiliation, hotter than the ache in her body. It climbed her ribs, flooded her chest, burned behind her eyes until the edges of the room blurred. She watched Victoria’s painted nails drag lazily across Adrian’s collarbone.

She watched his mouth claim Victoria’s again, unhurried, as if Marceline were furniture. As if the wedding band on her own left hand meant nothing. As if the triplets shifting restlessly under her skin were not his.

Something inside her snapped.

“Get your hands off him.”

The words came out raw, cracked. Victoria only smiled against Adrian’s mouth and deepened the kiss.

Marceline moved towards them fast.

She crossed the space between them in three strides, reached out, and tangled her fingers deep in Victoria’s long, glossy hair. She yanked. Hard. Victoria’s head jerked backward with a sharp cry of surprise and pain. The kiss broke. Adrian’s arm fell away.

Marceline did not stop. She dragged Victoria sideways off the bed by that fistful of hair, ignoring the other woman’s frantic scramble, the nails that scraped at her wrists, the shocked gasp that turned into a shriek.

Victoria tumbled onto the carpet in an ungraceful heap of silk and bare legs. Marceline kept her grip and hauled her toward the door, step by furious step.

Adrian sat up against the headboard. He did not intervene. He simply watched, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth curling into something that looked almost like amusement.

Victoria twisted and kicked, trying to get her feet under her. “Let go of me, you crazy bitch...!”

“Shut up.” Marceline’s voice was low and shaking with rage. She yanked harder, forcing Victoria to stumble after her on hands and knees. “You don’t get to touch him. You don’t get to kiss him. You don’t get to put your hands anywhere near my husband.”

They reached the open doorway. Marceline shoved Victoria through it with enough force that the other woman crashed into the opposite wall of the hallway. Victoria scrambled upright, hair wild, lipstick smeared, eyes blazing.

“You’re insane,” Victoria spat, rubbing the back of her scalp. “He’s mine tonight. He’s been mine for weeks. You’re nothing but the pregnant inconvenience he keeps locked in this house....”

Marceline stepped into the hallway after her, breathing hard, one hand still fisted in the air as if she could still feel the silk of Victoria’s hair.

“I am Marceline Cross,” she said, each word measured and sharp. “I am the wife of Adrian Cross. The only woman who carries his name. The only woman who carries his children. And the only woman who gets to touch him.”

Victoria laughed, high and mocking. “Touch him? You can barely walk without holding the wall. He doesn’t want you. He never has. Look at yourself....swollen, red-faced, pathetic. He only keeps you around because of that baby. Once it's born he’ll discard you like the rest of the trash.”

Marceline’s vision narrowed. She took another step forward. “Say one more word about my children and I will drag you down every flight of stairs in this house.”

Behind them, Adrian’s voice floated out from the bedroom, calm and almost conversational. “Careful, Marceline. You’re making a scene.”

She did not look back at him. Her eyes stayed locked on Victoria. “Get out.”

Victoria’s chin lifted. “Make me.”

Marceline lunged. She caught Victoria by the hair again and this time by the front of her silk robe, spinning her toward the staircase.

Victoria shrieked and clawed, but Marceline’s grip was iron. She marched the other woman down the first few steps, voice rising with every word.

“You will never set foot in this bedroom again. You will never put your mouth on my husband again. You will never look at him the way you just did. Do you understand me?”

Victoria twisted, trying to pry Marceline’s fingers loose. “You’re hurting me....let go!”

“Good.” Marceline’s voice cracked like a whip. “Feel it. Remember it. Because if I ever see your hands on him again I will do far worse than pull your hair.”

They reached the landing. Marceline released her with a final shove that sent Victoria stumbling against the banister...she spun around, chest heaving, eyes wet with fury and humiliation.

“He’ll come after me,” Victoria hissed. “He always does. You’re just the wife he tolerates. I’m the one he actually wants in his bed.”

Marceline’s laugh was short and bitter. “Then let him come. But until he does, you will stay out of this house. Out of this room. And far away from anything that belongs to me.”

Victoria opened her mouth again. Marceline cut her off.

“I am his wife. Not his mistress. Not his plaything. Not the woman he keeps on the side. His. Wife. The only one. And if you forget that again, I will remind you with more than my hands in your hair.”

Silence stretched for a long moment. Victoria’s gaze flicked past Marceline toward the open bedroom door, as if expecting Adrian to appear and defend her. He did not.

Finally Victoria straightened her robe with trembling fingers, smoothed her ruined hair, and lifted her chin. “This isn’t over.”

“It is for tonight,” Marceline answered. “Leave.”

Victoria turned and walked down the remaining stairs without another word, her bare feet silent on the runner. The front door opened and closed somewhere below.

Marceline stood on the landing, chest rising and falling too fast, the twins shifting restlessly under the tight band of pressure across her abdomen. Her hip screamed for help, but she didn't dare acknowledge it....She was too upset to focus on it

....Her cheek still burned and her hands shook.

Behind her, the mattress creaked.

Adrian’s voice drifted out again, soft and laced with dark amusement. “Well. That was entertaining.”

Marceline turned slowly. He was still propped against the headboard, shirt open, watching her with those cool, assessing eyes. The condom packet remained untouched on the nightstand.

She walked back into the bedroom, every step measured, and closed the door behind her.

“You watched,” she said.

“I did.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“Why would I?” He tilted his head. “You finally grew a spine. It was almost attractive.”

Marceline’s hands curled into fists again. “She doesn’t get to touch you. Not while I’m still breathing in this house or while I still carry this pregnancy inside me and wear your name.”

Adrian’s smile was slow and sharp. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

He studied her for a long moment....the red mark on her cheek, the way she favored her right side, the fierce light in her eyes that had not been there an hour ago. Then he patted the empty space beside him on the bed.

“Come here.” His voice dropped lower.

Marceline did not move.

“I said come here, Marceline.” His emerald eyes stared into hers, making my insides melt for the second time. She hated how he had such an effect on her.

Still she stayed where she was.

Adrian’s expression cooled by several degrees. “You just dragged another woman out of my bed by her hair and announced to the entire hallway that you are the only one allowed to touch me. If you mean those words, then prove it. Come here. Now.”

The babies kicked hard, one after the other. Marceline’s hand drifted protectively over her belly. She met his gaze and, for the third time that night, did not look away this time.

“I am your wife,” she said quietly. “Not your possession. Not your entertainment. Your wife! And I will not share.”

Adrian’s eyes darkened. He rose from the bed in one smooth motion and crossed the room until he stood directly in front of her. He lifted one hand and brushed his knuckles...almost gently....along the still-burning mark on her cheek.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, “how dangerous it is when you start sounding like you actually believe that.”

Marceline’s voice did not waver. “I do believe it. And so will she. And so will anyone else who tries.”

For several heartbeats neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant closing of a car door outside and the soft rush of wind against the windows.

Then Adrian’s hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, then his fingers threading into her long dark hair. He wasn't yanking or punishing, but simply holding it.

“Do not forget our deal,” he said, so low she almost missed it. “If it's a boy...you stay... A girl....you leave... So don't think that little act will make me forget....And I sure as hell you don't disappoint me or else..."

Marceline’s breath caught...In her heart, gender never really mattered and she wouldn't let her babies grow in such an environment.

He leaned in until his mouth was near her ear. “We’ll see what you produce.”

He released her and stepped back, returning to the bed as if nothing had happened. He stretched out again, one arm folded behind his head, and looked at her with that same unreadable amusement.

“You’re still standing there. Either get in this bed and make good on those claims you just shouted down the hallway… or go back to your own room and try to sleep knowing Victoria is already texting me from the car.”

Marceline’s heart hammered against her ribs. The twins settled into a restless quiet. Her hip throbbed. Her cheek burned. And somewhere under all of it, the heat that had driven her to drag another woman out by the hair still smoldered.

She took one step toward the bed then another.

Adrian watched every movement, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Good girl,” he said softly. “Now let’s see if you can keep the promises you just made.”